Dorset Coast

Coastal path

Yesterday there was a pilgrimage

From Golden Cap to Lyme: we missed it.

We walked the route anyway, puffing 

Up hills, loving the summits, treading

Carefully down, striding the flat and

Counting flowers- 33 species,

But always watching the silver sea.

God was not forgotten, he was there

In every glance and pause for wonder.

  

Brilliance
Night was falling fast
The cliffs were looming
Dark, when suddenly
One section glowed warm
Orange: the lost sun's
Dying rays brought glory.
For a few moments
It transcended all.

St Gabriel's Chapel

An outline of what was, once, remains:

Four stubby walls, open to the sky

A Gothic doorway, with cows beyond.

There's little for the imagination: 

A small church whose congregation 

Are long unremembered. Only faith

Finds God here now, but old prayers

- and new- keep the space holy.

Charmouth

The sea is petulant tonight:

Crashing and bashing the beach

Trying to claw back attention

From 'eyes down' fossil hunters.

Their attention is not on tides

But transfixed on the lump of rock

Which might produce treasure. The chip,

Chip of hammer on stone rivals

The waves, counterpointing its smacks

And slow withdrawal over shale.

Their thrust is to find, hold and have

Proof of millions of years old, life.

The sea is irrelevant to them.

'Don't climb: unsafe cliffs'.

Two prats ignore signs, get stuck,

The life boat is called.

Week 6

Syria 2010 near Idlib

Idlib Syria

We take breathing air, fresh air, for granted.
We live, talk, sing, blow up balloons
Without regard for this life force,
Until it's lost, polluted, replaced.

What corrupt mind chose to release
Poisoned gas into the Idlib air?
From sleep the innocent inhale,
choke, gasp for breath which isn't there.

Post the First World War, it was banned
No one should die that way: yet it's picked -
The weapon to kill, cause agony
And bring death to one’s own people.

What end has it served? Yet one more
Horror in a muddled civil war:
choking death to people who once
gave us shelter in time of need.

(We were trapped in Syria in 2010 when the ash cloud from an Icelandic

Volcano grounded all planes.)

Lent week 5

The vibrant burnt umber orange

Of the Skipper's photo was gone,

'De-saturation' had taken place:

The greys of the result were dull.

Hopes lost, disappointment, let down

Are colourless too; vivid ideas

Become trampled, muddy and

To 're-saturate' in need of will.

Will power can grow flabby.

March 29th

Brussels

Brexit starts today;

The trigger letter given:

Trade rebirth begins?

                                                                        

                                                                                   Butterflies

Revelling in the warmth of the day

A holly blue plays the air waves,

Never landing but just dancing

Tantalisingly in and out of sight.

Hours later, Madame Butterfly

With her kimono 'wings' and grace

Sings her love for a man whose flown.

She is trapped in her love anguish

Pinned down by misery til death

Let's her go: like the holly blue

She finds joy in liberation.